Between the Desire and the Spasm - Criminal Minds
by thepsychonaut
Summary: Reid is completely preoccupied by his worry for Nathan Harris and the case involved, until Nathan shows up on his doorstep in the middle of the night in an emotional crisis.


Reid pushed a loose tangle of hair back from his forehead, exhaustedly turning page after page of reports. Crime scene photos swam together, coalescing into a blur of blood and tattered hair and slashed skin that tied knots in his stomach. After staring at the word 'HELP' carved into the torso of the first victim for a long, frustrated moment, Reid finally slammed the file shut on the table and dropped his head into his hands.

As much as he tried to focus on the case, focus on the profile, focus on the facts, Reid couldn't stop his restless mind from wandering back to Nathan. Most of the last four days had wrenched his gut with nerves whenever he thought about the boy, and no small amount of sleep had been lost over reflecting on every time Nathan had begged for help, every time his eyes had filled with tears of hopelessness, every time he'd said he was crazy and sick.

Reid had worried about countless victims and countless perpetrators before – objectivity had never been a part of the job that came easily to him. But there had never before been anyone who had affected him so deeply, and every time he thought about Nathan's quiet, helpless self-hatred, a harsh and bottomless fear surged through him.

Nathan did need help. Even if it wasn't his work, the dead prostitutes or the messages sliced into their bodies, no amount of innocence could cover the fact that the boy was on a downward spiral at breakneck speed. Everything about his behavior was an instant indicator – his wide eyes always downcast in shame, his nervous fidgeting, the frightening earnest with which he talked about killing himself to protect the people he wanted to hurt. His urges owned him in the precise way that he was so desperate to avoid.

It was going to be either Nathan or another woman who ended up on an autopsy table next if nothing was done. It could end no other way.

Reid raised himself from his chair at the table, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and moaning with utter exhaustion. He was beginning to think that the knot in his stomach would never loosen.

As he reached to turn off the lamp on the dining room table, a rapid series of knocks echoed from the doorway. Reid flinched in surprise, and his eyes immediately flicked toward the handgun that lay on the kitchen counter. Beside it, the digital clock above the stove read _12:51 a.m._

Reid's heart began to race, and he started around the table toward his gun, but as he did a voice called softly from outside.

"Doctor Reid?"

Reid froze. He recognized the voice before it even finished speaking. "Nathan?" he said aloud as a fresh pang of panic seared through his body, and before he knew it he stood at the front door, his fingers fumbling with the latch as he unlocked it.

Reid pulled the door open to reveal Nathan, standing huddled on the porch with his messenger bag on one shoulder. It had begun to pour, and he was practically soaked. He was dressed the way he had been when he first spoke to Reid in the station – lambskin jacket, dark trousers and sweater, slightly scuffed shoes. His hair was disheveled and his skin deathly pale, but it was the look of utter despair on his face that was so jarring.

Reid couldn't hide his shock. "Nathan . . . what are you doing here?" he asked haltingly, and Nathan looked down in embarrassment. "Did something happen? Are you all right?"

"Can I come in?" Nathan asked timidly, barely glancing up at Reid as he spoke. His eyes were enormous. "Please?" he pleaded, after a moment of silence.

Reid shook his head, collecting his scattered thoughts. "Yeah, of course," he said, standing aside and holding the door open as Nathan brushed past him.

He closed the front door and locked it, cautiously eyeing the gun that still lay on the counter as Nathan set his leather bag on the worn floor. "I'm sorry for coming," Nathan murmured, and he really did look sorry. "I was just walking, and I – I needed to go somewhere and I couldn't think of anywhere else."

"Does your mom know that you're not home?" Reid asked, already knowing the answer.

Nathan shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, biting his lower lip. "No, she doesn't know," he said quietly. "I couldn't tell her, she wouldn't let me go out by myself after what happened."

Reid paused, feeling extremely conflicted. "Nathan, I'm sorry," he said, "but you can't be here, I have to let your mother know–"

"No, please," Nathan said desperately, taking a step toward Reid and wringing his hands. "You can't – I can't go back, they'll think I'm sick – they'll lock me up–" His eyes welled with tears and he squeezed them shut, his face draining even more completely of color.

Reid watched Nathan wordlessly, his mind racing and his heart pounding. This was what he had feared. "Nathan," he said again, trying to sound as calm as possible. "_What happened?_"

Nathan looked away like he always did, and raised an arm to wipe away the tears with his sleeve. "I didn't know what to do," he said miserably. "I was sitting in my room and I was thinking that . . . that if I keep having these – these _urges_, and I can't hurt those women, then I have to do something else. And I . . ." He trailed off, shaking his head with his mouth open but no words coming out.

Reid stared at Nathan searchingly, not understanding at all. The boy kept wringing his hands, like he needed to hold on to something for security. And as Reid's eyes strayed down to Nathan's thin fingers, he saw threads of blood seeping from beneath his jacket sleeves.

Reid's heart jolted with agonizing intensity. "Oh my God, Nathan, what the hell did you do?" he demanded, hurrying to Nathan and grabbing one hand, rucking up the sleeve around his elbow. Under the fabric, an ugly pattern of cuts ran the length of his forearm, leaking deep crimson blood that pooled and ran across his ashen skin. Taking Nathan's other hand, Reid saw matching marks that ran from wrist to elbow. Warm, sticky blood slicked his palms, and he stared up at Nathan with unconcealed, agonizing horror. "Nathan, why did you do this?"

Nathan lowered his head, not bothering to pull his shaking hands away. Tears streaked his face, dripped off his chin and landed on his outstretched arms. "I don't know," he said breathlessly, drawing away as though he wanted to recoil into himself. "I was getting those feelings again, worse than before, and I knew if I didn't do something I would kill one of them." He drew a gasping breath, his chest heaving like something was suffocating him. "I tried so hard to get the pictures out of my head, but I couldn't stop thinking about the _blood_, and I . . ." He sniffled, shaking his head hard. "I thought if I couldn't cut one of them, then the next best thing would be me."

"Nathan . . ." Reid was at an utter loss for words. He felt sick to his stomach, but not because of all the blood. "We have to get you to a hospital–"

"No!" Nathan jerked his wrists away and stumbled a bit, as though Reid had been the only thing keeping him steady. "I can't go to a hospital."

"Nathan, you need help that I can't give you–"

"_I don't care!_" Nathan shouted, his voice cracking like a child's. He had never raised his voice like that before, regardless of the circumstances. He raised his eyes to Reid's, and they were full of pure and pleading desperation. "Doctor Reid, please," he said shakily. "I can't go to a hospital, I _can't_. You're the only one who can help me right now. Please don't send me there, _please_."

Reid's mouth hung open, but there were no words he could find to say. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. This was wrong. This was all kinds of wrong. Nathan couldn't be in his home, he couldn't show up covered in blood in the middle of the night and Reid couldn't possibly do nothing about it. But again he felt the same commanding, inexplicable sense of responsibility that told him that Nathan needed him in a way that no one else could fulfill. And looking at the boy in front of him, Reid was reminding painfully of himself at the same age – terrified of the power and darkness that his own mind held, knowing the ways in which the psyche can viciously turn on a human being. He understood and cared for Nathan for reasons that nobody else did.

Reid's shoulders went limp with defeat. Nathan watched him with wide eyes, his bloodied hands tense on the strap of his bag.

Reid gave an exhausted, weary exhale. "Then I'll need to fix your arms," he said quietly, and Nathan's whole body relaxed with a relief that was almost palpable.

.

Nathan sat silently across from Reid at the small, round kitchen table, his arms outstretched across the wood tabletop. An array of medical supplies lay beside them: cotton, hydrogen peroxide, a series of small tubes, a damp cloth and gauze. Nathan watched, enthralled but distant, as Reid gently rolled back his sleeves and began to clean the ragged surface of his skin.

"It didn't make me feel better," Nathan said hoarsely, after nearly two minutes of silence. His eyes didn't stray from the carefully clinical procedure, and his lips were parted absently.

Reid looked up from dipping a piece of cotton into the bottle of peroxide. "What didn't?"

"Cutting myself," Nathan replied. His mouth barely moved with the words. "I thought it would feel the way I imagined it would if I cut them, but it just made me feel . . . hollow. Like I was ruined."

His words filled Reid with a deep sorrow, but he tried to conceal it. "Nathan, hurting yourself isn't the answer," he said gently. "It never will be."

A twinge of pain flashed across Nathan's face. "I know," he murmured, almost too softly to be heard. "I know, but I . . . I couldn't think of anything else. I wanted to do it so badly, but I knew if I did I'd ruin everything."

He sucked in a sharp breath as the peroxide touched his broken skin and foamed in the wounds. Reid felt an irrational pang of remorse. He regretted causing the boy an ounce more pain that he had experienced already, but there was no way past it. "I'm sorry," Reid said earnestly.

Nathan shook his head faintly. "Don't be," he said huskily. "I probably deserve it." He watched in silence for a moment or two more. "Why are you so good at this?" he asked.

Reid put down the cotton, soaked with peroxide and rust-colored blood. He uncapped a tube of antibiotic ointment. "My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic," he said haltingly. "And when I was younger she would have breakdowns and she would hurt herself a lot, sometimes by accident, sometimes not, and . . . after my dad left, I had to take care of her."

"So she was sick too?" Nathan didn't say it like it made him glad – he sounded relieved that Reid understood, that he had something to compare it to. It was like he longed to find anyone who was like him, even if they were like him in the worst way.

Reid nodded, a crooked half-smile curving his mouth. "Yeah, she was."

"And she never got better?"

"She's in a sanatorium now," Reid replied, "and she's on medication, but nothing will change the way she is. She can just manage better then she could before, she'll never really _be_ better."

Nathan's body went rigid, and Reid was instantly afraid that he had said the wrong thing completely. He could feel the tension in the muscles beneath Nathan's skin, like his entire body was made of wires tautened to the point of snapping.

"I don't think I'll ever get better either," Nathan said honestly. He wasn't looking for sympathy. "Sometimes I think that I can stop it if I try hard enough, but I can't. It's a part of me." He let out a heavy breath that sounded like he had come to a final decision. "I'm better off if they lock me up."

"Nathan, you can't do this to yourself." Reid wanted to do something to comfort him, anything, and he found himself folding his hands tightly around Nathan's where they rested on the tabletop. Nathan looked up, his eyes blank with surprise. "This does not define you. I know it feels like you can't escape it, like it turns you into someone else, but you can't let it make you who you are. You're stronger than this, believe me. You found me because you know deep down that it's not a part of you, and that you can change it."

Nathan swallowed hard. "I want to believe you, but . . . I feel like if I was really stronger than it, I wouldn't have stopped at just cutting." All of a sudden, he only looked very tired, not just by lack of sleep but by the world in its entirety. His lips were pale and chapped, and there were indigo half-moons under his eyes. "I think I need to sleep," he said vacantly.

Reid nodded, overcome with sorrow. He slowly released Nathan's hands. "Yeah, you should."

"Do you think maybe I could stay here?" Nathan asked hesitantly, and for a moment Reid could see that polite and nervous shyness that was so unique to him. "Just for one night, I promise."

Again, that feeling of wrongness washed over Reid with blaring intensity, warning him of the implications of what this entailed. An instinctive sense of danger battled with another, less explainable feeling until Reid snapped himself out of his reverie. He nodded slowly. "Of course you can stay."

.

Reid stood in front of the hallway closet, gingerly pulling down old comforters from the top shelf. Nathan had protested strongly at first to Reid's insistence that he take the bed, but after a while he'd relented and retreated into the bedroom. Now Reid didn't want to leave Nathan alone, even for a couple of minutes. Though his arms were carefully bound in gauze, Reid was far more concerned about his emotional stability. Nathan had gone to a point that was difficult from which to return, and the empty expression on his face gave rise to all kinds of fear. But the thing Reid couldn't deny was that Nathan needed him to keep his word, to stand by him and to tell him that he wasn't crazy, that he could save himself. He deserved that much, despite everything. Reid owed him that much.

He closed the closet door, folding pillows and blankets under his arm, and went quickly back down the hall to his bedroom. He opened the door slowly, and found that the lights were still turned off. The room was lit only softly by the pale bluish light of the moon and streetlights, and there was the drumming of rain against the roof, but other than that the room was still and silent.

Nathan was sitting on the edge of the bed, his bare feet dangling off the side. He'd taken off his sweater and button-down, leaving the plain white T-shirt underneath. His head was down, his hands clenched on the seams of the mattress, but he looked up when Reid entered. He looked more exhausted than he had only two minutes before.

"I don't mind taking the couch," he began, but Reid gave a half smile and shook his head.

"It's okay, really." Reid tossed the pillows onto the end of the bed, and Nathan put a hand on them. His bandages gleamed white in the light that fell through the rain-streaked window. His knee was bouncing nervously, like it had in the interrogation room. Reid began to feel a strange sense of tension.

"I really am sorry for coming," Nathan said again, keeping his eyes on the pillows. He was wearing that odd, self-deprecating smile again. "I know it was a stupid idea."

Reid sighed. He didn't know what to say to reassure the boy. "Don't be sorry. As long it stopped you from doing something you would regret even more. It only matters that you're all right."

There was an endless pause. "Do you really think that I'm going to be all right?" Nathan asked softly. His knee kept bouncing, like he was overwhelmed with nerves. "You promised that whatever you thought about me, you would tell me the truth."

Reid almost laughed, utterly at a loss. "Of course I think you're going to be all right, Nathan," he said, walking to the end of the bed. "I told you before – you're the one who came to me because you didn't want your urges to control you. Everything about you says that you're capable of doing the right thing, and I _believe_ that about you."

Nathan pulled himself up to kneel on the mattress, looking at Reid steadily. "Do you mean it?" he asked.

Reid nodded. "Of course I do."

Nathan came to kneel at the end of the bed, eye-level with Reid. His face was sharply outlined in silver light, and he looked intensely vulnerable, with all the uncertainty and awkwardness that he'd had when they'd first met. In the next moment, quickly enough that Reid had no time to react, Nathan had reached up and taken the shoulders of Reid's shirt in both hands. Nathan's face was suddenly inches from his, and there was a moment of pause, a split second of doubtful hesitation, before Nathan's lips pressed against Reid's.

Reid felt his brain go utterly numb. Nathan's mouth was hot on his, and he could feel the boy's body shaking as though he was in pain. His hands were curled tightly in Reid's shirt, and the gauze on his arms scratched against the bare skin of Reid's neck.

With an enormous amount of effort, Reid put a hand on Nathan's chest and pushed him back – Nathan's grip broke easily, and he fell back to his elbows on the mattress, eyes wide. They were both breathing hard, but Reid's heart was hammering.

Reid could hardly find the air or the sense to form words, but he finally shook his head and stammered out, "Nathan, what are you – I don't – what are you _doing_?"

Nathan, unbelievably, seemed just as astonished as Reid felt. "I don't know, I . . ."

Reid ran his hand through his hair, shell-shocked. He let out another strange laugh, the kind that accompanied being utterly overwhelmed. "Nathan, I – I know that you're really upset and confused right now, but this isn't–"

"No, it's not like that," Nathan said frantically, pushing himself back up onto his knees again. "This isn't because of what happened, I swear, it has nothing to do with that."

"Why, then?"

Even in the darkness, Reid could see Nathan's face flush deeply. He shrugged, avoiding Reid's gaze. "Why do you think?" he asked haltingly, with that crooked half-smile. "Why do normal people do it?"

Neither one of them spoke for a long, tense moment. Reid felt an endless wave of emotion wash over him, dazing him. This was that other feeling, the one that told him to let Nathan stay despite all the instincts that told him to do the opposite. The one that accompanied the strange feeling of protectiveness, that made him think over and over about every change in Nathan's face and voice.

Nothing about this made sense, and yet Reid was filled with a sense of understanding that made his breath hitch again in his chest.

Nathan knelt down in front of Reid again, each movement tense and unsure. His eyes shone with a film of tears, and every detail of his face became magnified, his chapped lips, his dark eyelashes, the curls of damp hair that fell over his forehead.

His gaze moved down to Reid's lips and then back up to his eyes, and Reid looked down, his hands trembling. "Nathan," Reid said softly, but the name came out as little more than a breath. He could think of nothing else to say.

Nathan lifted one hand, and it slid beneath Reid's collar, his callused fingers raising the hairs on the back of Reid's neck. The room was painfully silent. Nathan leaned forward again, slightly unsteady on the mattress, and this time when their lips met Reid didn't draw away. There was a great deal of uncertainty in the kiss, in the timing and the placement of their hands, but Reid's eyes closed and his fingers curled into Nathan's damp hair as if directed by some unknown force. He felt a sensation blossoming in his chest, a strange buoyancy, like an enormous weight was unfolding and lifting from his body.

Reid pulled back for a moment, his eyes glazed as they stared at each other wordlessly. Nathan swallowed hard and shivered, lips parted, as Reid's thin fingers traced down his throat. It felt to Reid like he was touching some fragile yet resilient thing; he felt the breath shudder beneath Nathan's delicate skin, and it made his heart pound against his ribs as he pressed his mouth back to Nathan's. The boy's hands knotted in his hair, pulling him closer, and it was as though Reid had lost the ability to think or to reason – every ounce of sense in his brain had evaporated into nothing.

Reid's hands slid down Nathan's back, tracing the contours of his spine through his still-damp shirt. A spasm ran through Nathan's body, and something akin to a gasp escaped his lips at the sensation. He leaned forward and parted Reid's lips with his, deepening the kiss and feeling him start in surprise.

The blood pounded so loudly in Reid's head that he imagined Nathan could hear his heart hammering. The feeling of someone's lips on his was jarringly unfamiliar, and he raised a hand from Nathan's spine to the back of his neck, kissing him harder. Nathan's fingers came up to cup his face, drawing him closer, and as Reid leaned into his touch he could feel Nathan's heart beating even faster than his own.

The kissing that had started out gentle and tentative slowly grew more insistent – their mouths pressed against each other with rising urgency, and Nathan's hands moved clumsily over the fabric of Reid's shirt to pull him even closer. Reid's fingers wound into the boy's hair hard enough that it should have hurt, but Nathan didn't flinch, just put both arms around Reid's shoulders and leaned back, pulling him roughly forward.

Reid stumbled, putting one knee up on the mattress to keep his balance; going even further, Nathan moved off his knees and sat down, and his hands slipped around to grasp Reid's collar and draw him down over him.

Reid knelt with one knee on either side of Nathan's hips to avoid crushing him and propped himself up on his elbows. He paused for a moment, suddenly overcome by nerves; he stared breathlessly down at Nathan, whose cheeks were flushed and hair was beautifully disheveled, and when he looked up to meet Reid's gaze his eyes glinted like coins, reflecting the light that streamed through the window. He almost looked like something other than human, and the look on his face sent shivers down Reid's spine.

Nathan tilted his head up, and Reid's mouth came down over his with a pressure that surprised even him; as their bodies slid together, Reid felt Nathan's hands skim up under the hem of his untucked shirt, making him shudder violently. Nathan's mouth opened under his, and in a moment of boldness Reid leaned forward and ran his tongue along the curve of Nathan's lower lip, feeling the boy's fingernails sink into his skin as he did so. It was uncharted territory for them both, Reid thought, but driven by something other than knowledge or experience.

Nathan's hands left Reid's back abruptly, and he pulled back for a moment, puzzled. Nathan raised his head as Reid did, pressing his lips against the sharp plane of his jaw, and his fingers moved shakily up to the buttons of Reid's shirt.

Reid's heart leapt with uncertainty in his chest. He didn't know how far they were going, or how far he himself was willing to go, but he could feel the tremor creeping back into his body as the backs of Nathan's hands brushed the exposed skin on his chest. "Nathan," he whispered anxiously, but his shirt fluttered open and Nathan leaned up slowly, reaching for the hem of his own shirt. He lifted it inelegantly over his head, baring ghostly pale skin, and Reid's insides twisted sharply with a mixture of desire and alarm.

"Nathan, stop," he said unsteadily as Nathan reached for him again, lightly trapping the boy's hands in his own.

Nathan met his gaze, looking confused and more than a bit dazed. "What?"

Reid's shoulders fell and he let out a remorseful sigh. "Nathan, I . . . I don't want you to do anything you'll regret," he said, trying to pick his words carefully and regain his breath at the same time.

Nathan shook his head, his brow knitting as he did the same. "I don't regret this," he said softly, in a voice tinged with hurt. "I wouldn't."

"You're under a great deal of physical and emotional stress," Reid said gently, "and I don't want that to compromise your behavior." He paused for a moment. "I want you to be safe."

Nathan sat back, raking a hand through his messy hair. His lips parted absently, but after a long silence he nodded in concession. "Okay," he said, lowering his eyes.

Sensing his disappointment, Reid leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss against his lips. "I'm sorry," he said, resting his forehead against Nathan's and feeling the boy suck in a deep breath in reaction. After a moment he murmured, "I don't regret it either," and felt himself go ridiculously pink.

He finally drew away, moving off the bed and scraping back his hair with both hands. Nathan still knelt on the bed, hands folded and looking oddly bereft.

"Reid," Nathan said haltingly as he turned toward the door. When Reid turned back, Nathan's blush was evident even in the bluish darkness of the room. "Could you stay with me?" he asked, toying unconsciously with the bandages around his wrists. "Please. I . . . I don't want to be alone."

Reid stared at him, taken aback. It was the first time Nathan had called him by name. After all that had happened, the nerves still tugged at him and rushed his heart, just a bit. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, realizing as he said it what a stupid question that was. At that point, it didn't really seem to matter.

Nathan looked at him with earnest eyes, and it highlighted all the stresses in his jaw, the bruise-like crescents under his eyelashes, the hollows beneath his cheekbones. He nodded mutely.

After a brief and futile internal struggle, Reid stepped away from the door and slowly returned to the side of his bed. Nathan shifted to the other side with renewed shyness to make room for him, and Reid lay down carefully beside him, aware of every tiny movement made. His muscles gradually relaxed, and he watched as Nathan curled up on his side, pulling up the comforter so that only the curve of his shoulder was exposed.

Silence fell around them until all Reid could hear was Nathan's soft and rhythmic breathing and the distant chirp of crickets outside. He was momentarily startled by a slight movement beneath the covers, but then realized that it was Nathan's hand seeking his across the mattress.

With the trace of a smile, Reid took it, feeling the roughness of calluses and the scrape of gauze, and his heart skipped a beat when Nathan squeezed lightly.

As he felt his body slowly go numb and his mind descend into sleep, he thought that it could almost pass as serene.

.

_Reid crept silently down the hallway beside Morgan, his gun clasped tightly in his hands. Dread lay like a rock in the pit of his stomach as they reached the door to the apartment, and he pressed himself against the wall as Morgan pounded on the door. "Mrs. Harris!" he shouted, holding his gun against his chest. "Open up! Mrs. Harris!"_

_When no one answered, Morgan stepped around in front of the door, hauled off, and kicked the door in with enormous force. Reid flinched at the sound, but had no time to pause as they entered the apartment with their guns at the ready. It was deserted, nothing out of place, but as they stared around Reid could hear music blaring from behind the closed door of Nathan's bedroom. Cold terror pulsed through Reid's body, but he motioned to Morgan and pointed toward the door._

_They moved closer, their feet soundless on the floor, and Morgan knocked. "Nathan?" he called loudly, and Reid could hear the same worry echoed in his voice. There was no reply._

_Morgan grabbed the doorknob and twisted, and the door swung open, surprisingly unlocked. The music washed over them, aggressive and deafening, and they stepped in, looking around the room for the boy. Reid moved past Morgan, and he could feel his hands shaking, every bead of sweat than ran down his forehead. As he looked past the desk and the bed, hoping that Nathan wasn't there, he spotted pale fingertips peeking past the sheets that dangled off the bed._

_"Oh, God. Oh my God."_

_Reid scrambled across the room, gasping through his panic, and as he rounded the bed he saw Nathan's body limp on the floor. He was pale and still as the moon, his eyes wide and unseeing, and the only color left was the horrifyingly bright crimson of the blood that pooled around him. It ran from the two wide vertical slits on each of Nathan's wrists, staining the carpet and matting his curls. A serrated knife, slick with blood, lay in the limp grasp of his right hand._

_In death, he looked younger and slighter, like a child._

_A piercing scream filled Reid's ears as he fell to his knees in Nathan's blood, which he thought must have been his. He dropped his gun and pressed his fingers to the hollow of Nathan's throat and the curvature of his torn wrists, searching desperately for the pulse that he knew wouldn't be there. He dimly heard Morgan shouting at him and felt hands trying to pull him up, but all he could process was the sound of his own ragg__ed sobs. His hands were drenched in blood._

_And then the room went dark._

_._

Reid bolted up in bed, gasping for breath. The nightmare still clawed at his consciousness, and he turned over to press his clammy forehead against his pillow, fighting back the nausea and fear. It was obscenely real in his mind – every detail of it sent pangs of physical pain through his trembling body, drawing him back to Nathan's room in continuous flashes. Reid gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for it to pass.

When it finally did stop and his breathing rate returned to normal, Reid pushed back his sweaty hair, exhaling listlessly. The nightmare had drained him.

"Nathan," he mumbled, reaching over to touch him and reassure himself that everything was still all right. When his hand closed on empty air, his eyes flew open. He pushed himself up, blinking furiously, and as his vision adjusted to the darkness he realized that Nathan's side was empty.

Immediately, his heart kicked back into its hysterical rhythm. "Nathan?" Reid said to the dark room, hoping that he was just imagining things, but there was no answer. Glancing at the bedside table, he saw that the digital clock read _4:07 a.m._

He threw back the blankets and pushed himself out of bed; he had twisted out of his shirt while he slept, but he stumbled across the carpet to the door and pulled it open. His mind started scrolling through all the possible things that could have occurred during his fitful sleeping – Nathan could have woken up and felt the need to wander again. He could have finally given in to his urges, despite all of Reid's advice. He could have been overwhelmed by the feelings of self-hatred and despair and decided to do something about it.

Reid felt his heart stop when he realized that he had forgotten to lock away his handgun.

"Nathan!" he called out frantically, dashing down the hallway to the kitchen, hoping to God he wasn't too late. "Nathan!"

He rounded the corner and stopped breathlessly at the threshold to see Nathan, who stood at the stove frying eggs in an implausibly normal scene. Nathan turned around, looking stunned to see Reid standing there staring at him in utter terror.

"I'm sorry," he said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I woke up, and I haven't eaten in a couple of days, so . . ."

Completely astounded and relieved, Reid let out something between a sigh and a laugh.

Nathan turned back around, reaching for a plate of toast that lay on the counter beside him. He looked more at peace than Reid had ever seen him.

Reid crossed the linoleum floor, shaking his head, and put his arms around Nathan's lean frame from behind. He swallowed hard, trying to quiet the raging and varied emotions that vied for attention, and pressed his lips softly against Nathan's temple. "This is all very unorthodox," he said after a moment.

Nathan gave another small, self-deprecating smile, of which Reid could only see a fraction. "I'm sorry," he repeated softly.

"Don't be."


End file.
